


Something like home

by VonVarleys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cooking, Established Relationship, Food, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentioned Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Post-War, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys
Summary: There's a restaurant on the edge of the Duscur quarter, a place where Dedue knows he can find a taste of home. The door is open and the lights are on, and an old friend waits inside.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Something like home

The king’s most trusted knight and advisor drew his scarf close against the night as he approached the edge of Fhirdiad’s Duscur quarter. The streets around him were narrow and the buildings pressed close together as if for warmth, but Dedue knew this neighborhood well. It was where he had convalesced some years previously while war ravaged Fódlan, healing both in body and in mind in the company of people who understood what he had suffered. And his destination tonight was a familiar one, run by an old friend. He rounded a corner, and saw its wooden signboard for “The Cat’s Pantry” hanging out over the street.

The sign on the door was turned so the word facing the street was “closed,” but the lights were on inside, and Dedue could see a silhouette moving in and out of a back room. He knocked three times at the door and waited. Then he knocked again. 

“Coming!” came the call from within, and a few seconds later, Ashe opened the door. His apron was spattered with stains, and more of his hair had escaped his ponytail than remained, but he was smiling brightly and his eyes were shining. “Dedue! It’s always so nice to see you! Come in!”

“Thank you,” said Dedue, stepping into the restaurant. He hung his coat on the rack by the door and looked around at the tables, only half of which were clear, to find one where he could sit. “May I eat here tonight or did I come too late?” 

“Of course. You’re always welcome here, whether I’m open or closed. I still have some stew left, and I could always sauté more fish.”

“What kind of stew is it?” Dedue asked. Tonight he wanted something warm, but most of all he wanted something familiar. Something like home. 

“Millet, venison, and potatoes,” said Ashe. “With mushrooms and herbs from Duscur.”

Dedue shook his head. “Potatoes came to Faerghus from Dagda. They are not a traditional Duscur ingredient.” 

“I know. Plenty of Faerghans come here too, so I cook to their tastes as well. The stew is sort of a blend, food from both cultures in the same dish. I could make you something else if you want a more traditional meal,” Ashe offered. 

“That would be best,” said Dedue. “What kind of fish do you have?” 

“Sturgeon,” said Ashe. “I was serving it with bread rolls with cheese and pickled vegetables, but I’m all out of bread, and they take too long to bake.” 

“Then do you have any millet left from the stew?” Dedue asked. He was thinking back to the way his mother cooked, matching together ingredients she had and substituting in for those she didn’t. 

“Yes, I do,” said Ashe. “Would you want it with the fish? I still have some pickles and red pine mushrooms. The mushrooms were shipped here all the way from Duscur; I think they’re really good.”

“Sauté the mushrooms and fish together, with onions, garlic, and red pepper sauce, and a dash of the vinegar from the pickled vegetables and some cooking wine,” said Dedue. That was exactly something his mother used to make on nights when there wasn’t time to make bread and nobody would be coming over, right down to using sturgeon for the meat. “I’ll eat it over millet.”

“Oh, that sounds really good! Do you want to come with me to help figure out proportions?” Ashe was excited now. He had been working since early that morning and it was now several hours after sundown, but he was always happy to cook something new with Dedue. 

“Yes, I’ll come,” said Dedue. He thought of the way he used to help his mother, handing her the spoons and spatulas, washing vegetables and stirring soups. “This is based on a dish my mother used to cook with me. It would be best if I help.” 

Ashe nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Dedue, for sharing this with me, then.” He paused. “I’m honored to help keep her memory alive.”  _ I’m honored you came to me, to cook her meals for you _ . 

Dedue followed Ashe as he carried a stack of dishes with him into the restaurant’s kitchen. It was messy after a long night of serving customers, with Ashe running to and fro carrying out orders and preparing food in between. Cuts of seasoned fish were arranged on a metal platter, and bowls of chopped onions, garlic, mushrooms, and herbs were laid out on the counter. A pot of stew larger than Dedue’s torso sat on a cooling stove alongside a comically rectangular frying pan, and onions and garlic hung in braids from the ceiling amongst pots and pans. 

Ashe deposited the dishes he was carrying into the washing basin, and pulled a well worn, round, copper frying pan down from its rack. He hefted the stew off the stove to make space for it, stabilizing the massive pot with his thigh before setting it on the floor. That done, Ashe lit the firebox under the stove, and put on the frying pan. “Is there any particular kind of oil you want me to use?” he asked. 

Dedue thought back to what he remembered from his childhood. “Use butter,” he said. 

“Okay.” Ashe took the lid off a ceramic butter dish and scraped some out into the frying pan. He then led Dedue over to the tray of fish. “Which piece do you want?”

Dedue selected a thin slice with ribbons of fat. They would melt nicely in the heat. Ashe picked it up with a fork and set it in the pan, making the butter bubble and hiss around it. He then brought over the bowls of onion and garlic. “How much do you want?” Ashe asked. 

“Not too much onion,” said Dedue. “Let me have a spoon.” Ashe handed one to him, and he spooned out some garlic. “This much,” he said, depositing it in the frying pan. He remembered the first time he’d been allowed to chop garlic himself, the kitchen knife feeling twice its size in his nine-year-old hands. It had felt like such a serious duty, such a great honor. He spooned out chopped onions from the other bowl, one, two, three spoonfuls. No more than that. His mother would use a whole onion, but she was feeding a family of six. She’d have used much more fish and garlic too. It felt almost wrong to make it for a single person, as if he were betraying the entire point of the meal. Still, he missed her cooking enough to try. He added in a splash of white wine, and wrinkled his nose as the alcohol fumes rose up towards the chimney.

“Thanks,” said Ashe. “I’ll let those cook a bit then we can add the mushrooms.” 

Just then, a knock came at the door. “Oh, I should get that,” Ashe said. “I’m expecting someone.” He darted into the dining room. “Coming!” 

So they wouldn’t be alone, Dedue sighed internally. He didn’t want to have to talk to anyone but Ashe right now, or about anything but home. He didn’t want to have to make niceties. But if Ashe had been expecting company, there was really nothing he could do. 

“Hello,” came Ashe’s voice from the other room. “How are you tonight?” 

The reply was too quiet for Dedue to quite make out over the hissing butter. Still, he could hear multiple pairs of feet on the floorboards. Was Ashe planning some kind of party?

Ashe spoke again. “I have quite a bit of stew leftover, and some fish. Come back, and tell me if you think you can handle the pot.” 

Dedue heard the answer this time, in an unfamiliar voice. “Thanks Mr. Ubert. We can probably take it between all of us,” someone said, and the footsteps came closer until the kitchen door swung open. Ashe came in first, followed by three children Dedue had never seen before, two boys and a girl. The girl and the younger-looking of the boys were both of Duscur, and the older boy, whom Dedue would place at about fourteen, was a Faerghan. They were bundled tightly against the cold in threadbare coats and worn shoes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the children taking in the tall man in a mixture of courtly and Duscur dress, and Dedue wondering what they were doing here, in Ashe’s kitchen.

Ashe gestured at Dedue. “Liche, Ugo, Walter, this is Dedue. He’s a friend of mine from the army. Dedue, this is Liche, Ugo, and Walter.” He gestured towards the children. 

“Nice to meet you,” said Liche, the girl, as she looked up to meet Dedue’s eyes. Her hair was pulled back into two braids that nearly reached her waist. Ugo and Walter stayed silent, not sure what to make of Dedue. They knew, of course, of Dedue Molinaro, the knight of Duscur, who in peacetime served as an advisor to the king. What they did not know was what this great man was doing in the kitchen of “The Cat’s Pantry.” Walter stared at the floor, while Ugo turned his gaze upwards, towards the knight.

“Hello,” said Dedue. “I think I should add the mushrooms now. Where do you keep the spatulas?” 

“Here you go.” Ashe pressed a wooden spatula into Dedue’s hand. Dedue flipped the fish over, then added in the mushrooms from a dish. Ashe had sliced them hours ago, and they beginning to show signs of oxidation, but Dedue was sure they would taste just fine. 

Ashe leaned over to hoist up the stew pot, and Liche came forward to help. “Careful now,” Ashe told her. “Walter, can you come give us a hand?”

The Faerghan boy shuffled forward, and took one of the pot’s handles in one hand, and put his other beneath it. Together, he and Liche lifted it. “Got it,” said Liche, holding one giant handle with both her hands.

“Are you sure you can walk the whole way like that?” asked Ashe. 

“Ugo can help,” said Liche. “Thank you, Mr. Ubert.”

“Wait, do you want the fish too?” Ashe asked them.

“Sure,” said Liche.

“I brought a bag,” Ugo added helpfully. He pulled an oilcloth sack from his coat.

“That’s perfect,” said Ashe. He grabbed up the platter of fish and tilted what was left on it into the sack. “Can you carry that and help the others too?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” said Ugo, nodding seriously. He gave one last, shining look back at Dedue, then turned to follow Liche and Walter back into the dining room. Ashe went with them, to open the door onto the street.

“Thank you! We’ll bring back the pot in the morning!” Liche called as the trio walked out into the night. 

Ashe returned to Dedue at the stove. “Who are they?” Dedue asked.

“Neighborhood children. They all live with Liche and Ugo’s grandfather’s sister, who’s too old to work, so I’ve been helping them out recently. There’s a few younger cousins and Walter’s little sisters too, and another older man who lives with them, so I let them take whatever I have.” 

“Their parents are dead?” Dedue asked. It was an unnecessary question. 

“Well, that or just gone. Liche and Ugo’s mother and father were killed when Ugo was a baby, I know for sure. Liche told me about it. I don’t know about Walter.” 

Dedue stirred the mushrooms around in the pan. So many orphans had been here tonight, he thought. Himself, Ashe, the children… How much sorrow could this kitchen hold? Dedue flipped over the fish one last time to check it. It was thoroughly browned, and the spices and herbs coating it had made a fine crust over both sides. 

“You should probably check to make sure it’s cooked all the way through,” Ashe said.

Dedue poked his spatula straight down into the fish, where the meat segmented, and checked. The flesh of the fish had turned white in the middle as it cooked. “It is ready.”

“That’s great. ” Ashe returned from the other side of the kitchen bearing a plate of warm millet tossed with Duscur herbs. He took the frying pan from Dedue and tipped out the fish and mushrooms on top of the millet, letting the butter saturate the grain. “Does this look right?” He asked Dedue. 

“Yes, that should be good,” Dedue answered. 

“Wonderful. We can sit out in the dining room.”

“Will you be eating anything?” asked Dedue. 

“I ate before I started tonight. I might have a dish of millet, actually, so I don’t wake up hungry, but I don’t need anything fancy. Feel free to choose a table while I get that set up.” Ashe handed Dedue his plate and a set of silverware wrapped in a napkin.

Dedue walked out into the dining room carrying his dinner. It smelled delicious. The scent of the mushrooms was especially nostalgic. It reminded him of sunsets in the mountains of Duscur, running from the house to his father’s workshop to tell him that dinner was ready, gathering his younger siblings together, helping to set the table. He could almost see the view from his old dining room window, the houses across the road with their windows and doorways lit golden in the darkening night. Dedue took a seat at the large table in the middle of the room, facing away from the window. 

Ashe walked through the door, balancing a plate of millet topped with butter on one arm, and holding two glasses of water. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, settling down into the chair across from Dedue. 

“No need,” said Dedue. He made a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods of the river and the forest before he unwrapped his fork and knife. It was what he would have done at home, with his family. 

For a short while, the two ate in silence. Dedue wasn’t just homesick, he was hungry. He had taken lunch at the palace, but more than eight hours had passed since then. Objectively speaking, the fish and millet were delicious. The fish was tender and flavorful, and the millet was the perfect texture. But the mushrooms...

“How are things at court?” Ashe asked eventually. “Have you found any other people of Duscur willing to represent their country in Faerghus? I remember last time you were still searching.”

“There are a few candidates,” answered Dedue. “All of them are young, and lived all their lives in Fhirdiad, since even before the slaughter. I am searching for elders, with experience on their village councils in Duscur. They, I think, will be better suited to government.” 

“I’ll let you know if anyone like that comes by the restaurant,” said Ashe. “Though most of the people who come here are from our generation. Maybe one of them has a parent or grandparent I can send your way.”

“Thank you. Perhaps that would be a better way to do things,” Dedue said, thinking of his frustration at how the search had been going. Dimitri’s efforts at reparation and reform were worthy, worth everything Dedue had sacrificed in himself to make them possible, but gods were they exhausting. “What about at the restaurant?”

“Things have been going well enough,” said Ashe. “There’s always plenty for me to do, and I love the neighborhood and the customers--well most of them. I also have been teaching a few local children to read. Tell me, has anything come of his Majesty’s plans for a school system?” 

Dedue sighed. “It’s been discussed a few times, but such things are often lost in the ministries. The delegation is endless, and not all of the nobility is friendly to his plans.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I figured from the way the knights talked.” Ashe furrowed his brow, remembering their hateful words towards Duscur and the restoration. “It must be difficult for you, having to put up with them all the time.”

“I have allies in the palace,” said Dedue. “Besides, this is my duty to my countrymen.”

“I really believe that you are doing something great and heroic,” said Ashe. “Still, please take care of yourself too. If you ever need a respite from the way things are at court, you’re welcome here. And you have friends in the Duscur quarter who remember you fondly. Bruna came by a while ago to ask after you.” 

“Thank you.” Dedue took the last bite of his fish. It was delicious, and much like he remembered it. He had been worried about the wine being the wrong kind, but it hadn’t mattered much. “I should visit her soon.”

“Dedue, is something the matter with your mushrooms?” Ashe asked. Dedue had pushed all his mushrooms to the side of his plate, and was eating the millet with just the onions and sauce. 

Dedue frowned. “They don’t taste the same. You said these were red pine mushrooms from Duscur.” 

“That’s what I was told. I bought them from a Duscur merchant who’s sold to me many times; I don’t see why he’d lie,” Ashe said. 

“I do not think you were lied to. They have something of the correct flavor, but not quite what I remember.”

“I see,” said Ashe. He thought for a moment. “The mushrooms sold here Fhirdiad taste different from the ones I used to forage around Gaspard village, even when I buy the same kind. They carry the taste of the soil where they grow.” 

“Do you ever miss Gaspard village?” Dedue asked. 

Ashe nodded. “Sometimes. I miss the people the most. They were always kind to me there; even when I stole from them, I never got more than a scolding. And I miss lord Lonato, and my brother.”

“It doesn’t end,” said Dedue. “Years have gone by, but I miss them too, my brother and my sisters and my parents. I miss my village. That was why I came to you tonight, and it wasn’t enough.” It wasn’t enough. Nothing anyone did was ever enough to fix the hurt, the longing he felt for home. Ashe and Dimitri both tried in their different ways, but there was no such thing as enough.

Ashe had finished his millet. He pushed back his chair, and walked around the table to stand behind where Dedue was sitting and place his hand on his shoulder. “We’re like the mushrooms.”

“We’ll always carry the taste of where we come from,” said Dedue. He reached up to take Ashe’s hand. It was smaller than his but strong, warm, and calloused. “Duscur, my family: they created me. Their strength is how I survived, and why I am able to keep on fighting for my countrymen in the palace.” 

“I’m sure, if they could see you now, they’d be proud of who you grew up to be,” Ashe said softly. “I’m sure they would be honored to know that you keep them with you.” 

Dedue stared down at the pile of mushrooms on his plate. They didn’t blur, and his eyes didn’t begin to sting. Dedue hadn’t cried since he was thirteen, since before the slaughter had taken everything from him, including his capacity for spontaneous displays of emotion. If everything he had been through in the more than a decade since then hadn’t been enough to make him cry, then nothing Ashe said to him could do that. But it was moments like these when Dedue wished he could still shed tears. 

“We’re doing such different things with our lives, but we both do it for the people we came from,” Ashe continued. 

“And for the people who are here now, and those who will come after us,” said Dedue. He thought of Ugo, Liche, and Walter. While Dedue labored for the siblings’ rights and reparations in the palace, Ashe would keep them and their family fed. “Thank you for letting me eat here tonight. The ones who came by earlier reminded me of why I continue on as an advisor to his Majesty.” 

“You’re always welcome,” said Ashe. “I know you’re busy, but I still miss seeing you every day. I can always make time for you here.”

“Thank you,” said Dedue. He paused, the next words stuck in the back of his mouth. But Ashe had already said he wanted to see more of him, so Dedue steeled himself and decided to go ahead. “May I stay the night? It’s cold out and the knights’ quarters are far.”

Ashe smiled. “Of course! I’m always glad to have you stay over.” His face softened. “I’m here whenever you’re wanting, Dedue; you don’t need an excuse.” 

Dedue felt his face grow hot. He ate the last, lukewarm bite of his millet and onions and tried to change the subject. “Thank you for the meal. Do you need help with the dishes?” 

“There’s only room at the washbasin for one,” said Ashe. “But you can come into the kitchen to keep me company, if you like.”

Dedue nodded and rose from his chair. Outside, the street was dark and the first few flakes began to fall, luminous and quiet. By the time Ashe and Dedue woke the next morning, Fhirdiad would be blanketed in the first snow of 1189. 


End file.
